I want to speak on something that has shaken up our community lately. Many people are deeply upset with Troi Branum because she decided to call ICE on a group of immigrants. I understand that emotions are running high, and I can see why. That one call may have felt like the right thing to her in the moment, but when you step back and think about the consequences, the harm is clear. This wasn’t just a report to an agency; it was an act that could separate families, strip people of their livelihoods, and sow fear in our neighborhoods.

The issue goes deeper than Troi Branum’s single choice. It asks us to consider how we, as people of faith and as a society, treat the vulnerable among us—especially immigrants. And as someone who turns to the Bible for guidance, I cannot ignore what God has already said on this subject.

Leviticus 19:33–34 speaks so clearly: “When a foreigner resides among you in your land, do not mistreat them. The foreigner residing among you must be treated as your native-born. Love them as yourself, for you were foreigners in Egypt. I am the Lord your God.”

That Scripture leaves no room for guesswork. We are not told to only treat the foreigner kindly if they have the right paperwork. We are not told to love them only if we understand their situation or agree with how they got here. God commands us to love them as we love ourselves. That is a radical, unconditional call to compassion.

Now, I want to be fair. Some people will argue, “But Glenda, we have immigration laws for a reason.” And I acknowledge that. We live in a nation of laws. But laws written by man must always be measured against the laws of God. If following the letter of the law leads us to mistreat people, break families apart, or ignore suffering, then we must stop and ask: whose will are we truly serving?

Troi Branum may not have known why those workers were there. She didn’t know how much they were paid, or whether they were being exploited. She didn’t stop to consider that some of them may have been brought here by dishonest employers or that others may have been fleeing violence in their home countries. But by making that call to ICE, she set in motion a process that could devastate people who were simply trying to survive.

Immigrants—documented or not—are human beings. Many undocumented workers pay taxes, contribute to the economy, and take jobs that others will not. They clean homes, pick crops, care for children, and build our infrastructure. They often do this while living in fear of raids, deportations, and exploitation. Calling ICE without understanding their reality does not protect our community—it tears it apart.

And let me remind you: our own ancestors were once strangers. Some of us come from families who fled poverty, famine, war, or oppression. Others were brought here against their will, stripped of their humanity, and forced to build a nation that did not honor them. In every case, there was a time when our people were vulnerable. If we expect others to remember our pain and respect our history, then how can we ignore the struggles of immigrants today?

What troubles me most is that Troi’s actions did not align with the love and justice God calls us to live out. In Matthew 25, Jesus says that when we welcome the stranger, we are welcoming Him. When we turn the stranger away—or worse, call the authorities to remove them—we are turning Him away. How can we claim to follow Christ while actively hurting those He identifies Himself with?

Let’s also consider the ripple effects. Children grow up traumatized when their parents are deported. Communities lose trust in one another when neighbors call the government on each other. Workers become silent victims of abuse because they fear reporting their conditions might get them deported. Fear becomes the air everyone breathes. That is not the world God intended.

This moment with Troi Branum is not just about condemning her actions—it’s about learning from them. We have to recognize the responsibility each of us carries. Every decision we make can either build up or tear down. Do we want to be remembered as people who chose judgment, fear, and cruelty? Or do we want to be remembered as people who loved boldly, stood up for the vulnerable, and lived out the command in Leviticus to treat the foreigner as our own?

I hope Troi Branum takes this moment to reflect. I don’t say this to shame her but to invite her into growth. Repentance is possible for all of us. If she chooses, she can turn this around by listening to those she harmed, by learning more about immigrant struggles, and by becoming an advocate instead of an adversary.

And for the rest of us, let this be a wake-up call. It is not enough to quietly disagree with actions like this. We must actively stand on the side of love. We must defend immigrants in our neighborhoods. We must challenge the systems and attitudes that normalize mistreatment. And most of all, we must remember that loving the stranger is not optional—it is the very heart of God’s law.

I believe in a community where we live these words from Leviticus not just on paper but in practice. A community where immigrants are not feared but embraced, not hidden but celebrated. A community where compassion is stronger than suspicion. That is the kind of community I want for my children and grandchildren.

So let us all reflect on this moment with Troi Branum, not with bitterness but with clarity. The call she made was a mistake, but the call God has placed on us is eternal: love the stranger as yourself.

Glenda